Page 8 of After the Chase

The following day we return to Osteria della Luna for dinner, and my stomach is a ball of knots. Noah suggested it and I know why. He wants to play with his food and he is trying to involve me in it, testing me.

Luca's face lights up when he sees us, his attention immediately focusing on me. Throughout dinner, I watch Noah watch Luca. It’s not obvious as Noah is too controlled for that. But I see it in the way his eyes track the waiter's movements, the way his jaw tightens fractionally when Luca touches my shoulder, the way his fingers drum once against the table when Luca leans close to describe a dessert. Noah is fantasizing about every little thing he wants to do to him and I’m not sure whether I feel sick or am intrigued.

After dinner, we walk back to the hotel in silence. Noah's hand firmly holding mine, his body radiating that coiled tension I've learned to recognize.

As I predicted, when I wake, Noah is not here.

This time, I get up and go to my journal. I sit at the desk in the living area, the city lights casting shadows across the page, and I write.

Noah is gone again. Third night in a row. I know what he's doing. He's learning the area Luca lives in, monitoring his home for other occupants or guests. Checking the roads and alleyways.

I should stop this and demand he leave Luca alone. But I won't. Because I understand that this is Noah and this is what it means to be truly his, to be owned fully.

During the day, he never leaves my side. But at night, when I'm asleep and safe, he uses those hours to shut down what he perceives as a threat.

And I'm aroused by it.

I'm aroused by the knowledge that my husband is out there right now, stalking a man who dared to flirt with me. Noah is planning to kill, and one day he'll come back to me with blood on his hands, metaphorically or literally, I’m not sure.

I’m officially a part of this. I know he plans and I refuse to stop it. I know it’s wrong, but I’m allowing it to play out. I’m so interwoven with every fiber of Noah that nothing will make me part from him. The side effect to that is that I’m falling into his dark way of thinking, looking at it as a beautiful show of love and devotion. My shadow has turned me into his perfect object. Totally reliant on him in all aspects.

I'm still writing when Noah returns. He finds me at the desk, the journal open in front of me and he doesn't look surprised.

"Writing about me?" he asks quietly.

I watch him for a moment and notice something different. I drift my gaze over his entire body from head to toe. His fists flex as my eyes fixate on those strong hands. He’s not wearing his rings and that’s when I see the tiniest speck of red. Oh shit. He’sdone it. I look back at those green eyes and I know he can tell what I’m thinking. My breathing increases as my pulse quickens, my mouth dry with anxiety and something akin to excitement.

“What did you do, Noah?” I whisper. Noah tilts his head to the side and his right side of his mouth curves up into a sharp smirk that even the devil would fear.

“You know. Would you like details?” he asks, but not in a teasing tone, he is genuinely asking me if I want more details.

“You killed him,” I say, but more to myself.

“Yes.”

What do I say to that? I’m not sure how much time passes as I try to process what is happening, as this is the first time I have spoken directly to Noah about what he does. I briefly think of Noah hurting Luca. Did he stab him? Strangle him? Warn him to never look at me again? Because this is why he is dead. Because of me. Heat blooms in my groin as I start to go hard at that thought. This is so fucking wrong.

When I look back at Noah he is staring at my very obvious stiff cock behind my boxers, but I don’t hide it. I’m so confused by the feeling that it feels like I’m floating in a dream, an alternate universe.

“Interesting. You like that I hurt him for you, don’t you baby?” he croons at me like I’m an obedient pet. I nod, but only subtly, enough for him to pick up on it, but enough for me not to appear eager in this shift of moral compass that I now have.

"On your knees," he commands.

I forget my journal and obey immediately, my cock begging for attention. Noah removes all of his clothes, abandoning them in a pile on the floor. His dick is already half-hard, thick and heavy between his legs. I watch it with hunger, and something that feels disturbingly close to worship.

He crosses to me slowly, letting me see every inch of him. When he's standing directly in front of me, close enough that Ican feel the heat radiating from his skin, he reaches down and threads his fingers through my hair.

"You know what I want," he says quietly.

"Yes."

"Tell me."

"You want my mouth. You want me to worship your cock. You want me to prove that I exist for you."

His grip tightens in my hair, painful and full of control.

"That's right. You exist to worship me, Chase. Your mouth was made for this. Made for me. Open," he orders. I part my lips, and he guides his cock to my mouth with his free hand. The head brushes against my lower lip, warm, smooth, already leaking precum. I taste salt and musk and that uniqueness of Noah, and something in my chest tightens with need.